Page 23 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

Bastard.

I punch him hard against his belly, my fist digging against his rib cages.

He is a wimp. An idiotic wimp.

He thinks he can force his way just because he can easily overpower her.

He believed I would do nothing about it. I would stick around and watch, too scared to lift a finger.

He is mistaken.

I have had enough of this.

It's not the first time, and she knows it won't be the last, so I refuse to stand by the fucking sidelines and watch as he beats her frail form, her eyes the same as mine, welling with tears.

She is not crying for help. She doesn’t even try anymore. She shouldn’t waste her voice like that, anyway. Her voice is for me alone.

Her voice is only meant to whisper soothing words as she kisses me goodnight like I am still her little boy, wanting to preserve the innocence in me, pretending the monster feasting on her doesn’t have his blood pumping through my veins.

Her hands don’t fight back anymore.

She never even asks me for help. How could she? Fighting would mean descending into hell to match the devil and come out victorious.

But today… today is different. I have some of his alcohol in my system today. I took a hit of the mind-fucking shit he keeps hidden in the last shoe rack row in his bedroom. The one with those horrible red leather shoes that he likes. As red as his dyed hair, which also matchesthe color of his bloodshot eyes,to completehis wannabe gangster prick look.

My legs move fast and my hands even faster.

I am in a different zone as I lift him from behind, fisting into his faded shirt and the chinos he’s wearing. I slam him against the television set, and it comes clattering down on him as he hits the floor.

His eyes go dark, and this moment, he sees it.

Now that I stoop to his level, I am his spitting image.

I won’t hold back again.

A wry smile wrings out of his shrunken face as he staggers to his feet, and I curse him. I curse him for being my father. I curse him for keeping my mother imprisoned. I curse him because I know I’m his best leverage.

I plunge, my punch flying and stomping into him. I don’t know where I am hitting but I hear bones crushing and gags. I see crimson and splashes of it dart to my face.

He falls down on the floor, and I go with him.

Today is the day he gets every battering I have had to stand and watch him rain on her. Today is his fucking doomsday.

I pounce. My mother’s screams fuel my rage even though I know she is screaming for me to stop. She can’t stop me. No one can.

But someone does. Emanuele Teso.

“Fabio De Luca!” My mother shrieks.

“Fabio De Luca!” A familiar voice breaks into my chaotic mind. Eva’s voice. “Let him go, Fabio,” she squeaks. “Please!”

I barely come to and realize I’ve got the stupid kid in a chokehold.

I lift my hand to give him a punch that will maybe make him lose two or three of his teeth, but Eva’s shrieking cry leashes around my hand, and halts midair.

I will never understand why good women take pity on men who should be chopped into pieces and fed to dogs.

For her sake, I let go, and he drops to the floor like the deadbeat that he is. Breathing heavily.

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